The Return of the Usa

Tanna Island, Vanuatu, Southwestern Pacific

“They came from the sky.”

The legendary tale always started the same way. No matter how many times he heard it, Kailani always felt a delightful shiver of expectation when the story began; the story of the mysterious gods, the Usa, and their miraculous visit to Tanna all those years ago.

This year, Kailani would be listening to the ceremonial telling of the account even more attentively than usual, given what he was planning to do the following day. The secret he held close to his heart, confirmed by the scrap of paper he clutched in his grubby fist, would see him do what none in his tribe had ever dared even consider, let alone attempt – he would venture forth off the tiny island and come face to face with the mighty Usa themselves. If Kailani had any hope of success, he needed all the information about the gods he could get.

The sacred festival had lasted three days, during which the island’s women and children sang and danced while the men, chests emblazoned with the words of their beatific benefactors, paraded and marched in imitation of the glorious gods they worshipped. Worshipped and entreated to return, for that was the primary purpose of the holy occasion – to invite the gods to come once more to Tanna.

Now, as the festivities wound down for another year, young and old gathered as one in the village square for the closing ceremonial event – the handing down of the oral tradition. Alaka’i, known affectionately by all as Abu – grandfather – was the oldest man on the island and the sole surviving villager from the days of the divine visitation over 75 years ago. Alaka’i would pass on the story, as he did every year, so the future generations may continue to revere the mighty Usa.

The children huddled eagerly at the old man’s feet while behind them stood the adults. At 16, Kailani was afforded a place in the crowd between the two, with the other adolescents of the island. He leaned in expectantly with everyone else as the story began.

“They came from the sky, but first they sent gifts,” Abu Alaka’i intoned. His sight had long since failed and he was scarcely able to walk, but his voice carried clearly out over the village square, as resounding and authoritative as ever. “As gods are wont to do, they showered down blessings to prepare us for their arrival.”

“What kind of blessings, Abu?” One of the children enquired. The asking of such questions was as expected and predictable as the familiar story itself. By tradition, it was left to the little ones. Participation was encouraged.

“All kinds!” the wizened figure exclaimed. “They floated down on clouds, a marvelous bounty the likes of which we’d never seen before. And never will again, until the day they return.” Alaka’i paused here and solemnly bowed his head, before booming, “Praise be unto the Usa!”

“Praise be unto the Usa!” The crowd roared.

The old man continued. “I wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen the gifts for myself. Tins of food that tasted like heaven and never spoiled. Mud-colored bricks that were sweeter than any honey on Earth. Hot brown liquid that gave a man the strength of ten, and firewater that burned your mouth and throat going down and your mind for hours after.”

The villagers oohed and aahed, hanging on every word.

“And that was just the start. There were swathes of fabric that could be made into a house by a single man in less than an hour. They had clothing that would make you invisible if you stood motionless among the trees. There were contraptions that, when a man wore one on his head, allowed him to talk to another standing on Efate.”

The neighboring island was over 100 miles away. Such magic was unthinkable.

“And,” Alaka’i continued, “they had the secret of faerem! They could destroy anything in their path with their destructive power.”

“What did they look like, Abu?”

“Why, a lot like you and I, of course. They were bigger and stronger, though, and came in many colors. Blakwaet, they were.” Alaka’i paused for effect. “They were smarter, too. That was the secret to their power.”

“What could they do?” The children shouted breathlessly.

“Magic!” the old man replied to their delight. “They built things by magic. Massive steel birds that they rode, fitaplens, and enormous watercraft, batelbots, and all had the destructive power of faerem!”

Kailani, by custom, was too old to participate in questioning Abu Alaka’i, but he now rose and asked what had all had wondered but none had dared voice before. “Why did they come, Abu?”

The crowd was stunned. To question the mysterious motives of the gods was dangerously close to blasphemy. “He’s hafmad,” the adults muttered uneasily, waiting to see if Alaka’i would respond.

He did. “You should know better than to ask that, young man.” Kailani hung his head at the rebuke, but the old man wasn’t done. “They never told us and, even if they’d wanted to, we couldn’t understand their strange tongue. But…” Alaka’i trailed off in thought, before going on. “I did hear some things.”

No one spoke. No one moved. They all held their breaths in expectation of new revelations about the mysterious Usa.

“There was a terrible war raging; a battle for civilization itself. The Usa were fighting a deadly enemy from far across the sea, where the sun sets. They came to save us, but also because they needed our help.”

“Did you help them?” Kailani asked, barely above a whisper.

“Yes, we did. We allowed them a home here on Tanna, so they might wage their war across the sea. And in return, they showered us with their blessings.”

Kailani knew he should sit down and hold his silence – this deviation from the traditional telling was making everyone uneasy. But he had one last question and it had to be asked. “Did they win the battle?”

“Who knows for sure?” Alaka’i responded sadly. “One day, years after their arrival, they packed up and left just as suddenly as they’d come. But we’re safe and free, aren’t we? I think that is answer enough.” The old man then mumbled to himself, “Praise be unto the mighty Usa.” No one heard this last and, if any noticed the single tear that fell from his sightless eye and rolled down his wrinkled cheek, it went unremarked.

Silence reigned over the square for several beats, finally broken by one of the children who asked the customary closing question. “Will they come again, Abu?”

Back on familiar ground, Alaka’i’s voiced rose once more as he replied, “Yes, that is what we live and hope for. That is why we honor them every year. We must never leave Tanna; we must remain in place and pray for the return of the Usa.” Even though Kailani knew the old man was blind, it felt as if the sightless stare was fixed squarely on him as Alaka’i said this. “If we praise them with our every word and work, they will surely return in all their glory.” He finished. “Praise be unto the Usa!”

“Praise be unto the Usa!” the villagers proclaimed as one, signaling the end of the story for another year.

As the gathering broke up into a bustle of activity and everyone prepared for the final ceremonial act of the festival, Kailani glanced guiltily down at the scrap of paper in his hand. Was he really going to go through with it? He could barely believe he was contemplating leaving the island in search of the Usa. Such blatant defiance of tradition went against everything he’d been raised to believe in. But he knew he could never live with himself if he didn’t try.

Kailani alone had seen Alaka’i’s single tear, and he knew what it meant. Regret. Everyone suffers from it in old age, but the youth instinctively knew that the worst kind of regret was for the things one had failed to do. He strongly suspected Alaka’i went not a single day without wondering how different his life would have been had he seized his opportunity over 75 years ago and learned more about the gods, traveled back home with them when they departed, even. Kailani was not going to make the same mistake.

He’d seen the curious craft anchored off the island’s uninhabited northern shore a few days ago. It was much like the batelbots Alaka’i had spoken of, except, Kailani knew, this was a turisbot. And when it set sail on the morning tide, heading for the home of the Usa, it would have one extra passenger aboard.

The boy regarded the faded piece of paper he’d found on the beach – proof of the craft’s destination. The image on the front was of a giant, green woman wearing a glorious crown and holding aloft a flaming torch. Kailani couldn’t read the words printed above the picture, but what was written below would have been instantly recognizable to anyone on the island. USA.

While Kailani thought anxiously of what he was planning to do, the crowd commenced the final, worshipful act of the festival – the singing of the sacred song of the gods. Their voices rose out in haunting harmony over the tiny island. O say can you see…  

Epilogue

So-called ‘cargo cults’ typically form when primitive cultures encounter developed, western visitors and come to see the technologically advanced newcomers as gods for the bountiful gifts they bring with them.

During World War II, US troops established a base on the island of Efate, Vanuatu, in the southwestern Pacific. The native population worshipped the soldiers and when the servicemen departed after the war, continued to hold annual celebrations begging the ‘gods’ to return.

This practice still persists to this day. There are at least three known cargo cults still in operation on the island of Tanna, Vanuatu.

Glossary of Bislama terms:

Abu - Grandfather

Alaka’i – Common Pacific island name meaning ‘leader’

Batelbot - Warship

Bislama – The national language of Vanuatu, a form of Pidgin derived from English-based Creole.

Blakwaet – Black and white

Efate – Pacific island, part of the Shefa Province of Vanuatu. Location of the capital Port Vila and the American Quoin Hill Airfield during WWII

Faerem – Fire, typically related to weaponry

Fitaplen – Jetfighter

Hafmad - Crazy

Tanna – Southern Island in the Vanuatu archipelago 228 Km south of Efate. Home to the cargo cults, most notably the famous ‘John Frum’ movement.

Turisbot - Cruise ship